


A New Adversary

by Alfreds_Mustache



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Dick Grayson, Batkids Age Reversal, Dick Grayson Being a Little Shit, Dick Grayson is Not Robin, Dick Grayson is Renegade, Dick Grayson-centric, Identity Reveal, Jason Todd is Red Robin, Light Angst, Mild Language, SPOILER: probably Deathstroke, Secret Identity, Secrets, Some Humor, Tim Drake is Red Hood, basically he’s working for the enemy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28782591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alfreds_Mustache/pseuds/Alfreds_Mustache
Summary: Tim is attacked by an obnoxious, masked thirteen-year-old with throwing knives. The kid (Dick) has an impressive but suspicious amount of training under his belt, and he wants to know why.Unfortunately, Tim’s idea of getting him to talk is by putting a bullet through his head... Let’s hope Jason can change his mind.(Or: A mysterious boy becomes Tim’s nemesis, and Jason tries to help but uncovers a secret instead.)
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson
Comments: 28
Kudos: 128





	A New Adversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it’s not mine. All rights go to DC Comics.
> 
> TW: Strong language.

The shot rang out in the deadly quiet air of the Gotham pier. It was approximately 11:23 pm, and the night sky was smothered by a dull-grey blanket of clouds.

Atop a factory roof overlooking the docks, two figures stood facing one another, equally bloody and out of breath. At first glance, there appeared to be only one figure, a smoking gun in his hand pointed seemingly at nothing. To those trained and bred in darkness, it was apparent that there was, indeed, a second, smaller figure, hidden in the shadows of the treacherous rooftop, back pressed hard against an industrial chimney behind him.

“There goes your last free pass, kid.” Red Hood’s muscles tensed as he repositioned his pistol, this time pointing it at the spot between the boy’s eyes. “Now:  _ Who are you. _ ” He wasn’t asking.

No response.

(Which in itself was annoying, because this intimidation tactic usually worked; he could count on  _ one hand _ the times that it hadn’t, and each of the individuals had either been overconfident idiots or bat-shit crazy weirdos. He was still working out which of the two categories this kid fit into, but it was probably both.)

Red Hood’s hand tightened around the pistol’s grip, index finger itching towards the trigger. He usually preferred a long-distance rifle (currently strapped to his back) for doing the dirty work, but he was making a special case for this obnoxious sonofabitch.

He took a step forward to press the barrel right up against the boy’s forehead, hard. “Just answer the damned question, runt,” he growled coldly, “preferably before this bullet enters your brain.”

From behind his domino mask, the boy’s eyes remained unflinchingly trained (if a little cross-eyed) on the gun’s steel barrel. Sagging against the cement at his back, he took a couple of ragged breaths to ease the burning in his lungs. Then, turning his gaze from the gun on his forehead to the eyes of the red helmet before him, he...smirked.

“I  _ dare  _ you.”

Hood was taken aback by the clear absence of fear (and even more so by the presence of honest-to-god  _ playfulness _ ) in his adversary’s tone. Forcing himself to shake off the sudden unease that crept up his spine, he pressed on the gun harder, annoyed that this kevlar-wearing, preteen  _ bandit  _ was able to give him the chills. Then, returning the kid’s smirk (even though he couldn’t see it through helmet), he let out a dark chuckle.

“Whatever you say, brat.”

He was at a loss when the boy didn’t flinch and his grin didn’t falter even as his finger started to pull back on the trigger.

“Hood, stop!”

Though he’d never admit to it, Tim breathed a sigh of relief at his younger brother’s sudden appearance. While he generally enjoyed the satisfying thrill of taking down wanted drug lords, gang leaders, and mob bosses, he wasn’t too keen on murdering kids -- no matter how obnoxious they were and even if they were trying to actively kill him.

(He would, however, take to his second grave the fact that he’d subtly switched the safety on after firing that first shot. He’d never intended to do any harm to the kid in the first place; even  _ he _ had a line he wasn’t willing to cross, and child murder was where he drew it.)

From the corner of his eye, he saw Red Robin, grappling gun in hand, swing onto the factory roof, land in a somersault, and hop to his feet. Then, seeming to notice the bullet shells and throwing knives littering the rooftop, he proceeded to whip out two escrima sticks, readying his stance for a possible fight.

“Hood,” Jason warned. “Drop the weapon.”

“Or what?” Growling, Tim turned his head to look at the interruption, still making sure to keep his gun pressed firmly against mystery-boy’s head. “I fought this stupid brat for  _ two-fucking-hours _ , and I’ve had it up to  _ here _ \--” he used his free hand to make a wild gesture above his head while raising his voice to a shout “--with his bullshit!”

“Okay, alright,” the younger said slowly, placatingly. “Let’s just talk about this.”

“Did you not  _ hear _ what I literally just said?”

“Yeah, c’mon, he  _ literally _ just told you!” The boy parroted, and Hood simultaneously wanted to thank and smack him. Red Robin spoke up before he could make up his mind.

(But honestly, it didn’t matter what was being said anymore; every word that came out of anybody’s mouth at this point was steadily raising his anger level, and he’d long since surpassed his limit for how much bullshit he could handle tonight. He was on his last nerve and everything was pissing him off.)

“Just… put the gun down?” The younger pleaded, irritation lining the edges of his voice. “B’s going to be pissed, and I don’t want-”

“ _ So what? _ ” Tim challenged, now shouting.

“ _ So _ ,” Jason’s voice raised to match his, “I don’t wanna have to sit through another lecture because your dumb ass couldn’t handle a fucking kid!”

And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The wave of rage that followed was the kind that only a sibling was able to invoke, because they always made it personal, always knew exactly what buttons to press to get under your skin -- and, goddamnit, Jason knew them all.

Tim’s world turned green and he swung his arm around to point his gun at the brother who’d just provoked him. Flicking the safety off, he all but snarled, “Who the  _ fuck  _ actually  _ cares? _ ”

And it was at that moment -- before either bat could register what was happening -- that the masked boy used Red Hood’s distraction as an opportunity to kick him as hard as he could in the chest. He gave a surprised grunt as he was forced backward, stumbling. 

“Hood!” Jason cried out unhelpfully, before rushing forward. Tim’s world flickered back to life, green fading as surprise overtook anger.

As he regained his composure, the second-oldest of the three found himself locked in a battle with the youngest, his escrimas against the boy’s wildly-unpredictable punches, well-calculated kicks, and -- very surprisingly -- flips. Had he not run out of throwing knives during his fight with Hood, Jason had no doubt the kid would be using them now.

(Jason wondered briefly how Tim had done this for two hours straight. Did he ever run out of energy?)

“I do!” the boy exclaimed cheerily, swinging his leg in an ark to kick Red Robin in the head. The older ducked, sweeping an escrima at the boy’s ankles in retaliation. He hopped over it, laughing.

“You ‘do’  _ what? _ ” Red Hood jumped in, aiming a punch at the back of mystery-boy’s head. The hit connected with his shoulder instead, but was still enough force to make the kid stumble to his knees, rather ungracefully.

“I care,” he replied cryptically, and neither brother could tell if the kid was being genuine or mocking; with him, it was hard to tell.

Before the boy could bounce back up, Red Robin took the chance to land a spin-kick to his left side; he pitched over before tumbling fully onto his back. As soon as he was down, Hood planted a boot on his chest to prevent him from moving.

“No one asked you, you little shit,” he panted, really needing to just sit down and  _ breathe _ for a few minutes. Instead, he channeled his exhaustion into pressing his foot down harder on the kid’s ribs. (Consider it payback for that surprise crane-kick to his groin… yeah, Tim was still recovering from that.)

He was expecting to elicit a grimace, maybe a snide remark -- definitely not whatever the hell followed.

It sounded like genuine, childlike, almost-innocent  _ laughter _ . The kid had honest-to-god  _ tears _ at the corners of his eyes like he’d just heard the funniest joke of his life.

Tim glanced at his younger brother, communicating with one look:  _ What the fuck is this? _

Jason gave only a confused shrug and a grimace in response. Everything about this kid was throwing them for a loop; he was unpredictable and unsettling, and neither bat liked it.

“What’s so damn funny, kid?” Hood turned his attention back to the boy on the ground. 

“N-no one...” he had to fight down fits of giggles with every word, “No one...ev-ever...does!” He broke off into another fit of hysterics.

Red Robin quirked an eyebrow, confused. “No one ever...laughs?”

Under his helmet, Tim rolled his eyes. “ _ Asks _ .‘ No one ever  _ asks’ _ , dumbass.”

“Oh,” Jason blinked, ignoring the jibe. Then his brows furrowed and the sides of his mouth quirked down. “ _ Oh _ .”

_ That’s… kind of sad, _ he realized, not quite sure how to feel.

Well, at least the kid was answering questions now, however confusing his responses were.

Tim seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Glaring down at the boy, he demanded again, “Who are you?”

At this, the boy under his boot grew very still, laughter dying in his throat. His expression turned serious in a matter of seconds.

“What’s your name?” Red Robin tried, inching closer.

“I-” he faltered, swallowing. His face remained stoic. “I’m not...allowed to say.” He clenched his jaw and squirmed, eyes darting nowhere in particular under his mask; he was nervous.

_ After two hours, we’re FINALLY getting somewhere,  _ Tim thought, eager for information. “Why?”

“Because…” he bit his lip, “... _ he _ said so.”

Before Hood could open his mouth, Red Robin bent down next him. “Then give us  _ his  _ name,” he suggested calmly.

After a moment of worried consideration, mystery-boy closed his eyes and gave a slight nod of his head, hesitantly. “Um… it’s...h-he…” he quickly mumbled the name under his breath so that neither of them really heard.

“Speak up, squirt. Can’t hear you.”

Ignoring Hood, the boy glanced hesitantly to the side at Red Robin. Sensing the silent plea, said hero leaned closer so that he could better understand the boy.

“H-His n-name…is...it’s...” he whispered hoarsely, just inches away from Red Robin’s ear. He took a shaky breath -- which was hard to do under Red Hood’s heavy boot -- and swallowed again. “I-I’m s-sorry, I can’t-”

He broke off into quiet, pitiful sobs of fear. His face remained straight, though, as if keeping it so would disguise the tears rolling down his cheeks.

The emotional whiplash on this kid was giving Jason a migraine.

He looked up at his older brother, who just shrugged and crossed his arms, and then back to the sniffling boy. 

He had an idea.

“Um,” he started smartly, grabbing his attention, “if you don’t want to say it out loud, maybe you could…write it?”

Tim cleared his throat and glared at him through his helmet.  _ ‘What the hell are you doing?’ _

Jason met his eyes, clenching his jaw firmly.  _ ‘Getting answers.’ _

Tim tilted his head.  _ ‘And if he escapes because of you’re stupid idea?’ _

Jason quirked an eyebrow.  _ ‘Then I’ll just blame you because you’re the one pinning him down.’ _

Tim looked away and huffed.  _ ‘Whatever.’ _

Jason smirked before looking at the boy once again. He’d stopped crying and sniffling long enough to get a few words out. “Yeah..” he said, his voice raw, “I...I think I can do that.”

He pulled a pen and notepad from his utility belt and handed them to the boy.

Although his arms remained free so that he could write, Hood kept his foot on the boy’s trembling abdomen to keep the rest of him in place. They waited impatiently as he scribbled.

Finally, after about twenty seconds of still silence, he looked to Red Robin before depositing the paper -- folded neatly into a triangle -- into his outstretched hand.

Silently, Jason rose to his feet and leaned closer to Tim. He fumbled a bit, trying to undo the folds carefully -- before Tim impatiently snatched it from his fingers and opened it fully.

It was hard to read in the dull, foggy moonlight, and they could only make out a handful of letters. From what they could see, it appeared to be a long name, written in scrawling, uneven letters.

“Jesus Christ, kid; your handwriting fucking sucks.” Hood leaned away to stretch his arms and crack his neck.

The boy gave a sheepish smile.

Red Robin tried reading it aloud to see if it would make more sense. “Um… ‘TrE..as..d..UNe..caCa -- seriously? --..Spo..DyE…”

He pored over the words, thinking that maybe there was a code or a hint of some kind that he was missing.

(There wasn’t. As it turned out, Tim was right; the boy’s handwriting did, in fact, suck.)

Tim had tuned out his brother’s incoherent rambling after the first thirty seconds, and had started reloading his pistol instead. And then his rifle. And then his backup pistol.

After about five solid minutes of this, he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“For fuck’s sake!” He again grabbed the paper from Red Robin (“Hey, I almost had it!”), crumpled it, and tossed it to the side. Then, he cocked his freshly-reloaded pistol and pointed it at the adversary under his foot. “Tell us now or eat lead, you--”

Tim faltered, disbelieving and confused in a hundred different ways, “...little...ass. Um.”

He trailed off, the gun in his hand dropping limply to his side.

Unbelievable.  _ Un-fucking-believable _ .

Somehow, within the span of just five measly minutes, that little squid had wormed his way out from under Hood’s boot by pulling an Indiana Jones with a fucking _ cinderblock _ , and vanished into thin air without a single trace.

In short, the boy had escaped, and in his place had left a cinderblock -- all without either (older, trained-by-Batman) vigilante noticing.

_ Where-? How-? What in the name of fuck? _

Tim was at an utter loss for words. How in the absolute flying  _ fuck _ do you lose track of someone literally  _ under your foot _ without noticing for a whole  _ five goddamn minutes? _

Maybe he was a meta. That was the only conceivable explanation. Things like that didn’t --  _ couldn’t, _ they  _ physically couldn’t _ \-- just happen, it was impossible. This was a level of ninja mastery that not even Batman himself could pull off, and that was saying something.

Tim might’ve appreciated the sheer impressiveness of the stunt had it not left him feeling utterly baffled, mindfucked, and (above all)  _ incredibly _ pissed off.

All of their progress had just disappeared, lost to the night.  _ Three fucking hours _ and they’d gotten nowhere. All of that hard work, finally pinning that little bastard down. For nothing. It made Tim want to scream with rage.

So he did, voice echoing over the water and bouncing across the rooftops.

“ _ YOU LITTLE MOTHERFUCKER! _ ” He called into the night air in no particular direction. Then he kicked the cinderblock with vengeance, and it cracked. “ _ I’LL FIND YOU! I SWEAR TO FUCK, I’LL FIND YOU!” _

Jason, meanwhile, was crouched on the ground, still deciphering the now-crumpled slip of paper. He scanned the scrawling words that appeared to be made up of a seemingly random sequence of crudely-strewn letters that altogether formed nothing but nonsense. Or, that’s what it seemed, at least.

_ Unless… _

Jason stood slowly, suddenly very alert. “Hood..?”

The older didn’t hear him, so wrapped up in his blinding rage and near-murderous thoughts. He paced along the edge of the roof, hands clenching angrily around various weapons and muttering to himself. “Shit-faced…son of a bitch…”

“ _ Hood _ ,” Jason tried again, fighting to tamper down the panic working its way up his spine.

“Motherfucking…goddamned...fuck,  _ fuck, FUCK! _ ”

“HOOD!”

“WHAT?” He whirled around, fury now directed at his brother.

“ _ I know what it says. _ ”

“What?” Tim blinked, his rage subsiding for a moment. He stepped closer, something in Jason’s voice making him feel uneasy (if not a little bit curious). “What does it say?”

Jason turned the paper around for him to see.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Just because  _ you _ got it figured out, doesn’t mean that I suddenly know what it says.”

Rather than rolling his eyes in return, Jason pointed emphatically at his own, scribbled translation written just below the original words.

“Oh,” Tim snatched the paper from Jason and read his (thankfully-legible) handwriting. His stomach dropped and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Slowly, feeling quite suddenly and inexplicably afraid, he met his brother’s equally-frightened gaze. “...Well, fuck.”

They had been played. The boy had set them up, played the game and _won_. Tim was not amused.

His jaw clenched tight, anger returning. This time, however, his rage was cold, calculating, ready to be unleashed only once he’d recaptured his prey. And, as Alfred was his witness, he would.

Distantly, he could hear Jason contacting the cave over the comms.

Tim’s hand tightened into a fist around the paper as he scanned the surrounding area once more. If he hadn’t needed to keep his guard up before, now, well… Now, none of them were safe.

His eyes flickered back to the paper. Unclenching his fist, he reread it, if only to cement his growing dread.

In Jason’s hurried translation of the boy’s writing, there was no mistaking the four all-too familiar names.

_ Bruce. Damian. Jason. Timothy. _

They were undoubtedly and unquestionably fucked.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages & Aliases:  
> Tim (20) - Red Hood  
> Jason (16) - Red Robin  
> Dick (13) - Renegade (“the boy” for now)
> 
> I wrote this a while back, so apologies if it seems all over the place. Not sure if it’s any good, so PLEASE let me know if you want more!


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